


Storm warning

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: Max and Furiosa wait out a storm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [smutty_arts art prompt challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutty_artsPromptChallenge), inspired by [Silver-89s](http://silver-89.tumblr.com/)’s art

Max has always been more patient than she is. 

It must be half a day since they took shelter from the dust storm. They were lucky to find this cavern, faced away from the wind so that only the odd flurry brings more sand in. If this continues, they won’t even need to dig their way out. 

They’re a long way from Citadel territory, a long way from anywhere. In the past two days of travelling, they’ve not seen any signs of life. Even this cave, large and reasonably defensible, seems never to have been inhabited. Waiting out the storm, they’ve explored until the natural hollows petered out into blank stone. Perhaps there’s just no water here. Their own tanks are full enough that Furiosa isn’t yet worried about supplies. They’ve got more than enough to get home, even if the weather doesn’t clear for another two days. 

She wishes the storm would blow itself out.

She’s knocked the car free of sand, but even in this shelter, there’s enough dust about that she’d rather postpone detailed checks. She won’t open any of the storage containers, so she runs inventories in her head, listing trade goods, tools, supplies. Eventually she can’t bear to sit still any longer, and gets up to pace.

Max glances over at her, then goes back to his boots. He’s sitting barefoot beside the car, darned socks in a neat bundle beside his sewing kit, checking over his boots by the light of a crank lamp. He’s patching a cracked sole with a scrap of leather, making slow, neat stitches with a heavy needle. They have workers at the Citadel who could patch his soles with rubber, faster and more airtight than the repair job he’s just done. She knows he knows that, bites her tongue not to tell him that. Max picks up his other boot, starts doing something complicated to fix a broken lace. 

Between the long, uninterrupted drive and the storm, she feels as if she’s hardly moved for days. Pacing is better than nothing, but it isn’t nearly enough.

“Storm’s lifting,” Max says, his voice a low rumble. He’s right: the light from the cave mouth is brighter, less red. When his crank light starts to fade, he doesn’t wind it up again.

The next time Furiosa comes past the car, he’s finished his boots and taken his shirt off. Taking out a smaller needle, he finds a trailing thread and starts stitching up a gaping seam. His large hands are deft and precise, brown against the paler skin of his belly. The tip of his tongue is just visible, his full mouth in a pout of concentration. As she watches, he licks his lips. Furiosa swallows. She keeps walking.

She makes a longer circuit this time, down to the back of the cave, zigzagging around the perimeter. She rolls her shoulders, tries to work out the tension in her back. Her arm is heavy after hours of wear, but she doesn’t feel relaxed enough to take it off.

By the time she circles back to the car, Max has finished his shirt, left it in a neat heap with his boots and sewing kit. He’s standing up – she didn’t hear him, between the wail of the storm and how quietly he can move when he wants to – and is leaning against the side of the car. His feet and chest are still bare, his body easy. She can feel his eyes on her, moving up from her hips to her face. When he meets her gaze, he smiles, slow and lazy and infuriating.

In four strides, she’s in his space, crowding him against the car, her hand in his hair. He’s outright grinning at her now, head tilted back to look at her, teasing. She bites at his lip before kissing him. 

Max gives a little grunt as she nudges her thigh between his legs. He’s hard. She wonders how long he’s been turned on, sitting there sewing while she prowled. She grinds against him, pushing into him as he chases her mouth. He’s shorter than she is, but broader and heavier. She can feel his sturdiness, the resistance of warm, healthy muscle when she presses him against the door. He’s got one hand on her bum, pulling her closer; not the full power of his arm, but enough that she knows it’s there. She kisses down his jaw, a wet drag of lips and teeth. His hips twitch when she nips his ear. 

Without warning, he turns them, taking hold of her and pivoting so that she’s the one against the door, pressing hard against her. She’s panting, ready to push back, not at all sorry to wrestle him over it, but he’s already dropping to his knees. 

His hands are quick and accurate, unbuckling her belt, tugging her leathers and underwear down. His mouth is on her hip as he gets his hands on her thighs, urging her to open them. She takes a step wider, straddling her legs for him, both hands steadied against the side of the door. The stretch in her muscles feels wonderful, a surge of energy after being hemmed in.

Max is already nosing at her pussy, but he looks up at that, over the braced lines of her body. His licked lips are red and wet, his eyes dark. He looks awed. He looks feral. Her cunt clenches, just at the sight of him. 

She doesn’t know how he knows, but he does, the schlanger. His next breath is a huff of laughter, warm on her skin. Parting her lips with one hand, he licks a stripe from her cunt up to her clit, broad and firm. She shudders, feels rather than hears the click in her throat.

Gripping her hips, he starts to lap, quick and teasing. He won’t settle to a rhythm, keeps revving her up and then idling. Furiosa is nearly growling with the frustration of it, being kept on the edge after half a day cooped up. She’s so wet that slick is dripping down her thighs, his mouth making obscene, wet noises as he slurps into her. She’d be grinding into his face if he weren’t holding her steady.

Her hips do buck when he sucks hard on her clit, a twitch and clench going through her. She’s whining with how much she wants more of it, her flesh hand in his hair to encourage him. He keeps sucking as her cunt pulses, pushing her harder. She’s gasping, breathing in noisy gulps that become a shout when the wave hits her.

As she starts to come down, the pulses slowing, Max slides his fingers between her lips. He’s still licking and sucking, fingers circling her cunt before slipping inside. He’s stopped teasing, is shamelessly working her over, rolling her from one orgasm into another. She’s whimpering rather than shouting now, metal hand gripping the side of the car until she’s probably leaving scratches. His fingers curl, pressing and stroking. He keeps going until her legs are shaking, her knees wobbly. 

When he pulls back, Furiosa lets herself slide down the car, legs folding until she’s in a heap facing him. There isn’t quite room, because he’s kneeling right there and she still has her leathers tangled around her knees. Max looks entirely smug.

She can’t blame him, her body still glowing at the release of it. Her muscles feel heavy but clear, thrumming like a well-tuned engine. Even the knots in her back and shoulder are less tight.

Max turns, drawing her down to the sand of the cave floor, so that they can stretch out. The ground is hard, but the endorphins seem to be making up for it. He’s kissing her throat, her shoulder, his hands soothing her. His chin leaves wet patches on her skin. The light has changed, cool and bright, the red tint faded.

“The sky’s clear.” Her voice is still husky. Max looks past her, then pulls away. He doesn’t trust the wasteland, though no one could have prepared an attack during that storm. Furiosa lies sprawled out, staying where she is as he goes to check the mouth of the cave. She watches him walk, her eyes following the weight of his thighs, the roundness of his bum. With his leathers riding low on his hips, she can see the twin dimples at the base of his spine, just above his waistband. Her mouth waters.

“Nothing for miles.” He’s coming back, walking a little carefully.

“Then there’s time.” She reaches for his hand, tugs him down beside her, gives him a push that sends him sprawling onto his back.

“Time for what?” He’s grinning. She gets herself between his legs, kissing and nipping at his belly while she undoes his fastenings. 

“Your turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
